The Curious Incident of the Jones Murder
by melodiousWhims
Summary: Alfred Jones has been on the case from the very beginning. After a series of murders all bearing the marks of something distinctly not human climaxes with the death of his own sister he knows he must turn to Arthur Kirkland to help. (Minor Character Death, Human Names Used, 2Ps will appear later on, Female versions will appear later on)
1. Chapter 1

1.

Arthur Kirkland awoke with a crick in his neck and a sour attitude, and really who could blame him? This was the third time that night he had woken up and for once it wasn't his own doing and instead a quiet, but incessant knocking that stirred him from his dreadfully light sleep.

With a groan he rose from his bed and felt his nerves grating as the knocks grew slightly louder. He pulled his robe off the back door and pulled it on, tying it tightly. He rolled his neck and finally shouted towards the door, "I'm coming!"

He slid out from his bedroom, past his small living room and wrenched his front door open. As he stared at the unwelcome guest he felt his mood darken.

"Have you any idea what time of night it is, _sir_?" He asked, his words dripping with loathing.

The small, almost timid man before him looked floundered at the response he was receiving from the Englishman. "U-uh yes, sir, Mr. Kirkland, sir," he stuttered, shrinking back at another dark look.

The man at Arthur's door was a young one, dressed in a detective uniform that was clearly too large for him. His attitude, with the too big uniform made him skeptical of the man's profession. Arthur couldn't help but be reminded of a child dressing up in his father clothes, his uniform hanging on him in such an ill way.

"I'm really sorry about the time, sir, but see I was sent by-"

Arthur groaned. "I don't particularly care who sent you, especially if you're with the police force. Tell those imbeciles that I have no interest in anything they might need," he snapped, gripping his door and threw it shut. However, the detective desperately held out his hand preventing Arthur from closing it.

"Sir, please, it's rather important!" He tried, pushing against the door as to not be shut out by the Brit.

"Everything's important to somebody, but I don't particularly care," he said, leaning against the back of the door hoping to just get the man to leave.

"There's been a murder!" The man tried again, growing desperate.

Arthur clenched his fist and pulled the door open, causing the other man to fall forward. "There's _plenty_ of murders in this town it would seem and if our police force would simply do it's job-"

The young detective held up a quivering, yet oddly determined hand in hopes of shutting the man up. "Listen here, sir. My name is Matthew Williams and I am apart Commander Braginski's squadron-" At this the detective heard a frustrated sigh, but kept speaking, trying not to let his nerves get the best of him. "And he said you are the only person who would be able to help us with these strings of murders that have been happening the past few months. I'm not supposed to say this, but the murders that appear in the paper are far worse than we allow them to say. It's a slaughter and Braginski is calling it to end now...sir."

Arthur raised a brow at this and frowned. "If I'm correct this 'slaughter' as you put it has been going on for nearly 3 months now. Braginski is only now calling an end to it?" He asked.

The confident air that Detective Williams had managed only moments before, disintegrated at the question. "I...don't always agree to the Commander's methods, but yes he's putting full force into stopping whoever it is, sir."

"Why?" Arthur asked.

"Why what?"

"Who was murdered that would prompt such a sudden determination in our police force to stop this killer?"

Matthew looked at his feet, growing pale. Arthur noted that the pale man before him sucked in a breath of air, almost as if he was trying to calm himself.

"I-it was a long time coming of course," he tried. "B-but this one hit rather...close to home for all of us…"

"All of these murders hit close to home for someone, who in particular died this time?" Arthur stated, coldly.

"H-her name's Amelia Jones, she's my partner's sister."

"Is this Braginski pushing for the solving of the crimes or your partner, Detective?" He asked.

Matthew sighed. "Could you please come along with me to the crime scene?"

Arthur eyed the young man with a curious look, actually taking in the man instead of looking at a cop who was too small for his own clothes.

"Fine, I'll come," Arthur agreed.

Matthew looked at the man with a look of surprise. "T-thank you so much, Mr. Kirkland, sir. It means-"

"The world to you, I know," Arthur said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'll be out in just a moment, I imagine you have a carriage ready?"

Matthew nodded.

"I'll meet you down there then," he said and closed the door before the detective would have anything else to say.

Arthur gave his eyes a rub and moved to the bedroom to ready himself for what was certain to be a tiresome and long day.


	2. Chapter 2

2.

The carriage ride to the scene of the crime was relatively quick, and despite the potholes that littered the streets, Arthur managed to close his eyes for a moment or two before Matthew gently woke him up. The building they stopped at was clearly used to these kind of events, Arthur noted, watching as scoundrels and vagabonds maneuvered past the police with curious skill.

If he were more of a man of God he would call this place a den of sin judging by the people occupying the area, but he could hardly bring himself to care as to who the kind of characters that were crawling the street were.

He pulled himself from the carriage, pulling his leather tool bag with him, and eyed the sad, abandoned looking building standing before him. The air surrounding it was bitter and smelled of piss, and despite the hustle and bustle of detectives entering and exiting the old building, it gave off an eerie feeling.

Matthew led Arthur inside and up to the third floor. As they stepped up, Arthur noticed a young man sitting on the steps, knees tucked tightly against his chest. He was dressed in a uniform similar to Matthews, this one better fitting at least, and it didn't take long to deduce from the red eyes and the clenched hands that this was the brother of the victim. Arthur looked towards Matthew and saw a concerned look on the other man's face as he spotted his partner.

"I think I can find my way from here, Detective Williams. You can go on," he said, and felt himself smile at the look of thanks on the other man's face.

Arthur rolled his shoulders and proceeded to make his way towards the room almost brimming with detectives. He had just about made his way to the back of the small crowd, ready to shove the men out of his way, when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

At this he swiveled around, shoving the hand off, ready to snap at whoever deemed it appropriate to touch him, but found himself looking at one of the largest (and most irritating) men he knew.

"Ivan," he said, brushing his shoulder, as if to remove any dirt that the man might have left.

"Kirkland," the Russian returned, raising his eyebrow. "Glad you could join us."

Arthur crossed his arms and stared up at the larger man, unimpressed. "I'm glad you deemed it appropriate to finally stop this supposed slaughter."

Ivan grunted. "It is terrible and must end," he agreed, but watched Arthur carefully.

"Indeed. Funny you should ask me to come and assist you," Arthur noted.

"Let me be clear, Kirkland. _I_ did not ask for your help," the larger man spat, seemingly offended by the thought. "If it were to me, you would be miles from this spot."

Arthur grinned at the man. "But it is up to you, _Commander_."

Ivan scowled. "No. One of men wanted you here. I allow it," he corrected.

"Ah, I see. Is he the one pushing for the solving of this crime, or is that you?"

Ivan waved his hand. "Terrible crimes must be solved," he said. "But let me be clear. You are not to touch anything other than body."

Arthur glared at Ivan. "You know that if I find something pertaining to my expertise, I must take it before your idiot men ruin it."

"Figure it out," he sneered. "If you touch, you leave."

"If it helps, let him take it," a voice interrupted and Arthur turned to see the man from the staircase.

Ivan stared at the man. "Jones-" he started.

"You said he could help, so let him help," the man snapped. "What would we even be able to do with anything he found? Nothing, that's what. So let him take what he needs, let him _do_ what he needs."

The Commander frowned, but didn't dare say a word to the blonde before him. Arthur couldn't help but relish in seeing Ivan in such a position. For all the years that Arthur had been forced to collaborate with the man he had never seen one of the Russian's own men stand up to him in such a way. Arthur even grinned when he saw the Commander just place his hands behind his back, give both men a look, and turn on his heel to walk away.

Arthur's grin fell however when he saw how exhausted and worn the man beside him was. The man's cap was off, revealing blonde locks that may have once been smoothed back, but now was a disheveled mess, like he had been running his hand through it and pulling at it. Arthur noted the man's eyes were red and while not currently wet, it was clear he had been crying. Arthur shifted uncomfortably and carefully watched the young man beside him, waiting to be addressed by him.

He didn't look at Arthur though, he simply moved numbly away from the room Arthur was at and leaned against the wall. The man only looked up when he realized Arthur was still watching him and nodded his head to the door signaling that he should go in.

Arthur frowned, but made his way through the officers and felt his stomach drop at the sight.

Lying on the ground before him was a young woman, a girl really. Her face was untouched and was almost peaceful looking amongst the carnage around her. It appeared that whoever, or whatever, had done this to her took pity and shut her eyes, giving her the look of a sleeping child. However, the rest of her body wasn't quite as angelic and was splattered with, what he could assume, was her own blood

Arthur was thankful that he wasn't sick easily, but took a moment before kneeling beside the girl's corpse.

He heard the sound of officers crowding to watch him at work, and frowned when he heard them mutter, "The loon's at work". He shot them a glance laced with hatred and they quickly scattered.

Arthur took his place beside the woman and opened his tool bag to pull out a notebook to write down findings to pertaining to his field.

The first things he noticed was how much care went into setting her into her final position. Not only did her face remind him of a person asleep, but her golden blonde hair fell in such a way that it was almost reminiscent of a halo. Her body wasn't a mess of broken limbs, but instead the killer had chosen to continue the idea of making her at peace and had adjusted her to look as if she were ready to be put in a coffin right at that moment.

Arthur removed his overcoat and hat, and tossed it behind him. He then rolled up his sleeves and leaned forward towards the girl's neck. He struggled with the high neck of her dress, but managed to unbutton the top few buttons enough to get a proper view. The neck was relatively clean in comparison to the rest of her bloody skin, nearly as paper white as her face, the only flaw on it being a dark purple and blue bruise and two pinpricks at the center.

It was clear what the attacker was, it was his speciality, but he still felt himself grow sick. He set the items down and moved to the woman's wrists and after wrestling with the tight cuffs, he noted similar pinpricks on the inside of her wrists. He gently held her cold wrist noticing the bruises that encircled it, and realized she had been bound. "I'm sorry," he muttered to the corpse, rubbing his thumb gently over the marks.

Arthur set her wrist down and stood glancing out the door to the man against the wall. He scribbled notes on his initial findings on the body itself, and walked the perimeter of the room. He noted how clean it seemed, and scribbled that it was most likely the girl was moved here post mortem. He also noticed the lack of furniture, character, anything that may fill the room and make it particularly interesting. It was a dull room with bland wallpaper, squeaky wood floors, and a body. As he made his way around, he nearly tripped on a floorboard that was particularly out of place, and despite the snickers of a nosy officer he knelt down and began prying at the wood.

Once the wood was risen he felt anger and disgust fill him as he pulled out two metal goblets, both stained red from use. They had a feast it would seem, and judging from the dark stains on the cups, it was a frequent occurrence. Matthew's words came back to him about the recent killings, and he assumed that these cups could have been found had the officers done a better job. He gripped his notebook and wrote down a description of the cups, but also his confusion as to why they might have been left behind. Did the creature plan to return for their goblets? Or they wanted to make this murder particularly memorable? Arthur placed his notebook into his back pocket and brought the cups over to his tool bag. He pulled out two smaller bags and placed each cup inside for further inspection.

"Are you finished?" He heard a Russian voice ask.

Arthur glared up at Ivan and gave him a look. "In this particular room for now, yes. I suppose I am. However, if you do decide to do an autopsy on the body, which I highly suggest be done, please let me know when and if I might be permitted to observe or conduct my-"

"Fine," Ivan interrupted.

Arthur let out a quick sigh and collected his things, placing his coat back on and holding his top hat in his free hand. Braginski ushered Arthur out and quickly officers went back to the room to collect the girl and remove her from the room.

"If you have questions, ask him," Ivan instructed pointing to the girl's brother, and turned back to the room to oversee the endeavour.

Arthur shot Ivan a dirty look, but carefully made his way to the girl's brother.

"Hello," Arthur said, placing his bag and hat on the ground and pulling a handkerchief out to remove what blood there may have been on his hands.

The man simply nodded, watching him carefully.

Arthur turned his head slightly at the boy's silence, but decided not to address it and turn to the matter at hand. "You're the victim's brother, correct?"

The detective stiffened at this, but again he nodded.

"Do you have any idea why she might have been brought to this location?"

"I patrol this area," he said slowly. "But I have a feelin' I wasn't a major reason as to why those monster's brought Amelia down to these parts. They probably figured it would take long enough to find her body and by that point they could go 'head and get to someone else."

Arthur nodded. "The blood and such is relatively new, I don't suspect she's been here long. Can you tell me who found her body?"

The man looked down and closed his eyes. He looked as if it pained him to be discussing this. "I did," he muttered. "I saw some fellas run outta the building like they'd seen a...ghost or somethin' and I suspected somethin' was a matter so I made my way in. Walked around a while and...somethin' drew me up here I guess and well…"

"Right, I understand. Thank you Detective…"

"Jones. Alfred Jones," he said, eyes settling past Arthur and to the police officers who had covered her with a sheet and moved her to a table to carry her from the building.

Arthur looked over his shoulder and heard the boy suck in air when they nearly dropped the girl. He turned back and tried to gather Alfred's attention to him, but the man had already leaned close to Arthur. "What did it?" He asked, desperate. "What killed my sister?"

Arthur stared at the boy for a moment. "I suspect you know what did, or else you wouldn't have made Braginski bring me in."

Alfred sneered at the comment, catching the Brit off guard. "I asked him to bring ya in, because we needed a direction to go in."

Arthur straightened at this and raised his eyebrow at the detective. "Well you made a proper request. It's quite up my alley."

"What did it?" He repeated, blue eyes flashing dangerously at Arthur's lack of answer.

Arthur raised his head and for a moment the two men stared each other down. One cold and lost and desperate for answers, the other holding a dark gaze and information that Alfred craved. With a frown Arthur leaned down and picked up his bag and hat, placing the latter on his head.

"A vampire," he said, and made his way from the boy.


	3. Chapter 3

3.

Alfred felt his breath catch at this.

"Wait!" He called after the man.

Arthur didn't even look over his shoulder and continued his walk down the steps.

Alfred quickly made his way after him catching him by the shoulder and shoving him against the railing. Arthur narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean 'a vampire'?" Alfred hissed, gripping Arthur by his coat collar.

The elder man simply stared with a frown engraved on his lips. When he failed to answer the youth, Alfred shook him. "What the hell do you mean, you bastard!" He shouted, getting the attention of his fellow officers. Matthew's eyes widened at the sight of the confrontation and made his way down the steps, appearing by Alfred's side.

"Alfred," he muttered, slipping his hand around his partner's arm in an attempt to prevent the man from shoving Arthur over the rail.

"Get off, Matt," he warned, pushing Arthur's back harder against the railing. "I just want an answer."

"An answer I gave to you and now you're in denial," Arthur said, dropping his tool bag to grab the younger man's wrists tightly, prepared to pull him over the rail with him.

"Vampires don't exist," Alfred snapped.

"Yet there's your sister's corpse with the tell tale marks of a vampire," Arthur snapped back.

"Alfred let him go," Matthew tried, and this time Alfred loosened his grip on Arthur.

"But-"

"You requested me here because I know things that you and your little friends wouldn't _dare_ address."

"Because those are things of the devil," Alfred said.

"And those 'things of the devil' managed to kill your sister and all I have done is offered my assistance. This is how you thank me for even identifying what had done it?"

Alfred's eyes flickered down, as if he were ashamed.

"So, _boy_ , would you like to ask me again what I meant? Because I meant _exactly_ what I said."

Alfred kept his head down and let his hand fall to his sides in clenched fists. At this Arthur simply shook his head and readjusted himself.

"I'm...sorry," Alfred said under his breath.

"I'm sure you are."

The detective's looked up and saw two unimpressed green eyes gazing at him. Alfred sighed and felt himself almost deflate. "I'm truly sorry, Mr. Kirkland. I just...Amelia…"

"I understand. However, you are hysterical and if you wish to help your sister in anyway I suggest you have your partner take you home and when you feel you can be sensible and nonviolent, please feel free to stop by my home, so I can properly interview you."

Alfred opened his mouth as if to protest, but Matthew gave him a look. Instead Alfred nodded.

"Listen, you have to trust me. I will help you find your sister's killer, but you must remain patient and trust that I know what I'm doing. Now, if you feel well enough tomorrow, I shall be waiting for you, until then I wish you a good day, sir."

Arthur turned on his heel and made his way down the steps, Alfred watching as the man disappeared out of his sight. Matthew wrapped his arm around Alfred, and turned back to the audience that had formed to give them a hard look. They quickly scattered and Matthew began leading Alfred down the steps.

"Come on, Alfred, let's get you home."

To be honest Arthur didn't expect Alfred to actually come to his apartment, especially so late in the afternoon. When he left, the boy was hysterical and hardly fit enough to help himself or his Amelia. As the day progressed it began to feel late for any sort of meeting, so Arthur decided that the young man would come by some other day. However, when three loud, sharp knocks came from his front door, Arthur was surprised to find Alfred to be the source.

"Good evening, Detective Jones," he greeted, stepping aside to let the young man in. "A little late to be out and having meetings, don't you think?"

"You said come today, so I came," Alfred said, shrugging his large overcoat from his body and hanging it on the coat rack.

"Indeed, I just expected you to come calling a couple of hours ago."

Alfred simply shrugged. "Apologies, Mr. Kirkland."

The two stared at each other for a moment, unsure of where to go, considering the way they had left each other the previous evening. Arthur cleared his throat and Alfred made his way to the couch, unbuttoning his black vest and letting it hang open. His blue eyes fell once again on the older man.

Arthur took a seat in front of him and gave him a reassuring smile. "How are you then, Detective?" He asked politely.

Alfred shook his head. "Could we just get started on this? There's not really any time to waste. Clearly you've been here the whole day and now we've lost a whole day of searching for the killer," he said.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "We?" He asked, almost laughing at the young man. "There is no we."

"Of course there is. This is my sister, I intend to help."

"You can help your comrades at the station. You would only get in my way," he stated cooly.

Alfred's mouth twitched at the comment, but he let out a breath to try and control his frustration. "I have to help, I'm your connection to the station."

"I have many other connections I can utilize, boy."

Alfred clenched his fists. "Don't call me that."

Arthur raised a brow and stood, unimpressed by Alfred. "You're attitude is clearly not any better than it was last night. You're grieving. You need to grieve."

"I need to bring her killer to justice," Alfred snapped, he took another breath. "Look, Mr. Kirkland, I just...please don't send me home. I can behave or whatever you may need, just please let me help you. I need to do _something_. Braginski took me off her case almost immediately and now my only choice is to either do paperwork or stay at home, and I _can't_ be at home."

Arthur frowned, but still said, "Fine, you may stay, but it is to only answer some questions. Nothing else."

Alfred hesitated, but finally contented with nodding in agreement.

Arthur leaned towards his table and grabbed his pen and paper. He eyed the boy carefully as if trying to get a feel for the man before him. Alfred shifted clearly becoming annoyed with the lack of questioning and with a sigh Arthur looked at his paper, scribbled down the word "Jones Interview". He then looked at Alfred and with his pen perched above the paper, he nodded, ready to begin.


	4. Chapter 4

"So, let's just start at the beginning, Detective. When did you last see your sister alive?"

Alfred took a breath. "Yesterday," he stated. "In the mornin' before she goes to her school to teach."

"So Amelia was a teacher?"

"A damn good one, at the elementary school," he said fondly, a small smile on his lips. "The kids love her."

"Sounds like she was good with kids?"

"She's good with everyone. Kids, old people, boys, girls, everyone loves Amelia. She's got this charm that nobody can resist."

Arthur nodded and scribbled down into his notebook. "Did anyone seem _too_ infatuated with Amelia?"

Alfred paused and his eyes widened. "L-like a stalker?"

"Essentially, yes."

Alfred shook his head. "No one ever wanted to hurt her…"

"Not exactly what I meant. I'm looking more for like someone that just always seemed to be around. Can recall anyone who just always was near your sister, or did she ever complain that she felt like she was being followed?"

Alfred shook his head. "Not really. People loved Amelia, but I can't think of anyone that was obsessed with her."

"Did she ever complain that someone might be following her?"

Alfred opened his mouth, but then shut it. He sucked in air and looked almost horrified. "Yesterday…" he started, placing his hand over his mouth. "Oh god."

Arthur leaned forward. "What?" He asked.

"A-amelia said that the night before on her way home she felt like someone was watchin' her...and I mean she told me its been like that for the last couple of days...I told her she was just...just being...paranoid," Alfred said, shaking his head. "B-but she wasn't bein' paranoid. She told me and I-I just brushed it off…I-I could've done somethin'..."

Arthur watched the young man deteriorate in front of him. Sinking deeper into Arthur's chair and covering his face, a small sob escaping the man. Arthur was never good with this aspect of working with a victim's family. He was good at his job and usually managed to handle everything, but when he questioned them and they started breaking down like this he felt himself begin to grow uncomfortable. He wanted to help them, of course, but he wasn't good at the whole comforting thing. He shifted as Alfred's shoulders began to shake and frowned at the sound of Alfred trying to catch his breath.

Finally he stood and placed his hand on Alfred's shoulder. "You mustn't...blame yourself," Arthur tried.

Alfred responded with wiping his eyes and trying to calm his breathing, his shoulder still shaking. Arthur squeezed the younger man's shoulder, and Alfred looked up at him. "Alfred, realistically you could have done very little for Amelia...especially if the vampire had been stalking her for days. She would still have ended up...dead, and if you had gotten involved so would you."

Alfred closed his eyes. "It still would have been somethin'," he muttered, squeezing his hands.

"It would have been two innocent lives lost. Two lives that would just be more names in the paper, especially the way Braginski has been handling these murders. I'm sorry that your sister has died, but at least with you alive her death will not have been in vain. I can find the killer, you can bring them to justice. Lord knows Braginski won't listen to me, but you-"

"I have to help you find them," Alfred said numbly.

"No," Arthur said firmly, not even pausing to consider it.

Alfred turned his head towards Arthur. "I couldn't help save her when she was alive, at least let me help her now."

Arthur frowned. "Helping me, you will most definitely get yourself killed. You will get in my way and frankly you will only hinder my investigation."

Alfred's eyes narrowed, a mix of anger and grief flashing across his face. "Do you think I'm just some kid? Some useless kid who is just tryin' to prove somethin'?"

Arthur raised his eyebrow, unimpressed by the accusations.

"Because I am an officer...no, I'm a fuckin' detective, _Mr. Kirkland_ ," Alfred snapped, standing up abruptly. The young man turned to Arthur, shoving his finger into the man's chest. "I have skills and am clever enough to figure out shit. You aren't so high and mighty because you deal with this...sort of thing. I am more than capable to chase some long tooth bastard around the city if it means avenging Amelia."

The elder man narrowed his eyes opening his mouth to speak, but Alfred's words came quicker. "I am helping you, like it or not."

"...Fine."

Alfred's eyes widened with surprise.

"You wish to help so badly, then...fine, I'll allow it, but you are _only_ serving as my assistant," Arthur instructed, picking his notebook up from the table and penning something down. "I also do not wish to see you let anything that happens affect you too much. I understand you are hurting and you are angry, sad, whatever, but these emotions will not do, _especially_ outside of this sort of environment. You must keep your emotions in check and listen to everything I tell you. Do you understand?"

Alfred paused watching Arthur carefully. He hardly expected Arthur to give in like he had, expected more of a fight, but the old man gave up too fast... _almost as if he wanted me to-_

"Jones, do you understand?" He repeated, annoyance clear in his words.

Alfred looked at Arthur for a moment and finally gave a sharp nod, determination clear on his face. "I do."

Arthur felt himself give the boy a slight grin. "Good then," he stated, and made his way to the door. "In that case, let's get going."

Alfred's determined face quickly shifted to that of confusion. "Goin'? It's basically dark out," He said.

"In this line of work you can't do too much during the day," he said, grabbing his overcoat from the hanger.

Alfred's eyebrows furrowed for a moment and then a look of realization hit him. Arthur felt a smile on his lips and he lifted his tool bag from the ground.

"So, come along."


	5. Chapter 5

5.

"Where exactly are we headin'?" Alfred asked. It was quiet in the slums of the city, an oddity considering the number of pubs, taverns and brothels littering the street. Alfred decided it wasn't quite late enough for the drunks to be stumbling home and the faint light in the sky must be deterring prostitutes from beginning their routine.

"We're meeting a friend of mine," Arthur said, stopping in front of the only nice looking town house. "Her name's Francine Dubois."

Alfred looked the building up and down and felt his eyes widen. "Is this a whorehouse?" He asked, frowning at the building.

Arthur shrugged. "Not...intentionally...they do shows, the singing and dancing sort, and she's a singer and the women here just...uh, mingle with customers. Not an intentional whorehouse though."

"Is that how you met her? She 'mingled' with you?" Alfred asked, trying to stifle a laugh at the deep red blush forming on Arthur's cheeks.

"No! I don't...I-I mean she's beautiful, but I'm not...its-"

Alfred laughed and elbowed Arthur in the side. "I get it," he chuckled.

"She's a dear friend is all and probably has some sort of information we need," Arthur huffed, pushing the door open.

As the two men entered, Alfred couldn't help but be astounded by the show on the stage. Two tightly corseted women were making their way through the crowd as the blonde on the stage was singing some vaudeville piece. He glanced at Arthur who watched the woman with admiration and realized the woman singing was Francine.

The Dubois woman was stunning to say the least. Her long hair was pinned loosely at the top of her head by a bright red rose, her delicate golden curls framing her fair face. Her stunningly red costume definitely accentuated the parts of her body that were already being noted by the fifty or so men filling the bar. She made her way to the front of the stage towards the steps and Alfred felt himself blush as she made eye contact with him and gave him a wink.

When Alfred turned to Arthur, he couldn't help but smirk at the man beside him. He was carefully watching Francine a dark red blush had spread from his cheeks to his ears as she began dancing her way off the stage and down the aisle towards them.

"Looks like she's ready to do some minglin'," Alfred laughed. Arthur swiveled his head towards the young man who only laughed harder at Arthur's face.

As the pianist began playing what seemed to be a dance break, Francine had made her way to Arthur who stood stiff as a board. "H-hello, Francine," he said.

" _Bonjour_ , _mon amour_ ," Francine said, her black gloved hands trailing up Arthur's arms and up to his neck. Arthur swallowed, his eyes jumping to the ceiling trying to ignore the beautiful woman who was dancing basically on him. Francine chuckled and lifted her hand to pluck the flower that was pinned in her golden blonde hair. "See me after the show, _Monsieur_ Kirkland," she instructed, trailing the rose down his torso and pinning it in his lapel.

Arthur gave a sharp nod and his breath nearly caught as she placed her lips on his cheek, leaving a bright red kiss mark.

Alfred raised his eyebrows as Arthur raised his hand to his cheek, but quickly shook his head. "This way," Arthur instructed, pulling the American towards the bar turning his back from the women.

"You alright there tiger?" Alfred teased. The comment earned Alfred a sharp glare from the older man.

"Hush." Arthur snapped, raising his hand to wave down the bartender.

Alfred rolled his eyes. "I'm just havin' a bit of fun," Alfred said, glancing back towards the stage. "Ain't never been in one of these joints before and it would seem neither have you."

"I've been here _plenty_ of times, Jones," Arthur huffed, he gave another wave to the bartender. The man behind the counter finally approached. "Whiskey, sir."

"I can tell," Alfred said, shaking his head to the bartender.

"Francine's just-"

"Gets to you?" Alfred offered.

Arthur shook his head, taking the glass from the bartender. "We have a long history together is all."

"Oh," Alfred said, "So she's special."

"I suppose you can say that," Arthur agreed, taking a swig from the glass. He shut his eyes and crinkled his nose.

"How come you don't do anythin' about it if she's...special?"

Arthur shrugged, setting the glass down. "Can't do much if she isn't interested," he explained.

Alfred furrowed his brows. "She seemed pretty interested."

"She...she has a certain taste," Arthur tried, trying to find the words.

"Oh, so you're not her type," Alfred said.

"Something like that," Arthur agreed, glancing at the stage. It appeared that the show part of the evening had ended and the women's ensemble were now making their way from the stage and into the crowd of people.

"Early show," Alfred noted.

The bartender laughed at Alfred's comment. "This is the real show," he explained, noting a woman straddling a well dressed and drunk gentleman. "No one really comes to the Red Den for the music no more. 'Sides, they keep the piano goin' and look, see? There's a singer so the show technically keeps goin' and goin'."

Alfred glanced at the bartender, but Arthur stood and placed some money down. "Thank you," he said, and motioned at Alfred to follow.

Arthur led his assistant towards a door with a man standing guard and pointed to the rose on his chest. "We need to get into Madame Dubois' dressing room," he said and after the guard looked at the flower for a moment he stepped to the side and opened the door.

"Now Alfred, I need you to just be quiet while I talk to Francine, alright?" He said, glancing down the back hall. It was basically dead since most of the women had free range of the bar. He spotted the door at the end of the hall and began making his way towards the back.

Alfred rolled his eyes. "Arthur, I'm a cop. I know how to interview people too," he muttered, following the older man.

"I know, but you aren't a cop with me. You're my assistant, remember," Arthur said. "So you're going to stay quiet."

Alfred scowled, but Arthur ignored him, gently knocking on the door.

"Come in!" A voice called and the two men entered Francine's room.

As the two men entered, Arthur felt himself frown at the sight of another woman who was pressed closely next to Francine. "Barrett," he greeted.

"Kirkland," she said, quickly pulling herself from the loveseat she had been on. She placed her hand on her neck and swiped at the red mark that peeked out the collar of her dress.

 _Lipstick?_ Alfred thought, noting the similarities between the mark on Arthur's cheek and the one on the woman's neck. His eyes widened at the realization.

Francine smiled and rubbed her thumb under her lip, fixing any smudging that may have occurred. " _Bonjour_ , Arthur," Francine said, a warm smile on her lips. "What do I owe the pleasure?"

Arthur returned the smile. "Police recruited me for a job, and I figured maybe you might have heard something floating around here," he said.

Francine raised a brow. "You're working with the police again?" She asked.

"What can I say? They needed me."

Francine turned her gaze to Alfred, who was still staring wide eyed at the two women across from him. "Is that why you have this one with you?" She asked, winking at Alfred.

"I figured he finally found himself something to fuck," the short haired woman muttered, moving behind a curtain.

Arthur gritted his teeth together.

" _Mon_ _Lapin_ , be nice," Francine warned, finally standing. "Ignore Alice, she's just sour because I promised I'd give her some attention."

Arthur nodded. "Yes, well, this is Alfred Jones," he said, finally introducing his assistant. "He's officially a detective with Braginski."

Francine grinned at the Russian's name. "You're just bringing up a lot of old dirt, aren't you, _mon chéri_."

Arthur shrugged.

"I thought you _swore_ you were finished with this police business."

"Well, people need my help-"

"What a hero," Alice said sarcastically, pushing the curtain aside. In her hand were a couple glasses and a bottle of liquor.

" _Minette_ ," Francine warned, pointing her finger threateningly towards Alice.

Alice scowled and placed the glasses down. "I'm being nice, I brought enough bloody glasses for everyone, see," she said, popping the cork effortlessly from the bottle.

Alfred stared at the short, green eyed woman who was beginning to pour the liquor. Her hair was sandy blonde and short enough that if she were in a pair of trousers she'd easily be mistaken for a gentleman, despite her height. Alfred felt himself quickly turned his eyes down when the woman met his stare with a glare.

Arthur tapped Alfred's shoulder and leaned in as Francine turned to Alice for a drink. "Don't piss Alice off, please," he instructed.

"Who is she, though?" Alfred asked.

"Well, she's my girlfriend," Francine answered, taking a sip from the glass.

Alfred's cheeks reddened, to which Francine only laughed.

"He's cute, I like this one," she said. "What did you say your name was?"

"A-Alfred Jones...Detective Alfred Jones," he said. "I'm sorry, I'm just…"

"Confused? It's quite alright, Detective. Given my profession, I'm sure you figured me to be something different."

"I just haven't had run ins with…"

"Lesbians. Clearly," Alice said, taking a drink from her own glass.

Alfred's face turned redder and Arthur finally interrupted. "But, we both need information and you seem to always know something, Francine," he said.

"Well gossip is gossip, what sort of information are you looking for?" She asked, taking a seat on the loveseat. "Please take a seat, gentlemen."

Arthur did as he was told, taking a seat in the arm chair across from Francine, Alfred sitting in the one beside him. "Alright, well, to get straight to the point, there's been a series of murders over the past couple of months."

"Twelve, to be exact," Alfred added.

"Yes, and they all seem to be apart of a series of killings that have resulted in the death of a young woman named Amelia Jones," he explained.

Francine tilted her head to the side. "No relation?" She asked.

Alfred's eyes went to the floor, his skin starting to crawl. "Sister," he muttered, placing his hands on his knees.

Francine placed her hand to her chest. "Oh, I am so sorry, Detective," she said, a look of concern on her face.

Alfred simply kept his eyes down.

"Well, I was brought in and Miss Jones had the mark of a-"

"Vampire," Alice finished. "Clearly. Why else would they bring you in?"

Francine gave Alice a look. " _Ma chérie_ ," Francine said. "Sit and hush."

Alice waved her hand, but did as she was told, refilling her glass.

"Yes, well I know the sort you run with Francine and whoever killed Miss Jones, it wasn't a random killing. Alfred said his sister believed she was being watched up until her death, and I found goblets at the crime scene. I want to say that whoever killed Miss Jones had been on the older spectrum of Vampires in the area."

Francine set her glass on the table. "Do you suspect they may be Ancients?" She asked.

Alfred looked up, confused by the term. "Ancients?" He asked.

Arthur looked at him, but Alice answered. "Ancients are the oldest form of vampires you will meet. They are stronger, faster, smarter and frankly far better than any form of vampire you may meet. Legend says that they are the ultimate form of a vampire, not turned like the standard vampires, but instead born like this. Thousands of years to evolve to be the perfect predator," she said. "What makes you think they'd be so messy to leave behind goblets, or such a trail of bodies, Francine?"

"To gloat," Arthur answered.

"They're thousands of years old, why in God's name would you think Ancients would even _care_ to gloat?"

"Pride. They're proud creatures and if they're going to kill something, they're going to leave it for the world to see," he said.

"So the bodies are...trophies?" Alfred asked, feeling himself grow pale.

Arthur nodded. "Unfortunately, it would make sense."

"I still doubt Ancients would waste time with such small victims," Alice said. "A Detective's sister? That's hardly worth the time of an Ancient."

"It wasn't just Amelia," Alfred said. "Whoever is doing this has been killing small _and_ big. I mean, the last murder was a musician, Roderich Edelstein."

"A washed up pianist? Please, they'd kill politicians or royalty, not has beens and nobodies."

Alfred clenched his fists, ignoring the remark.

"But what sort of vampire would put as much effort into these murders?" Francine countered. "The goblets I imagine they used to feast with, most vampires would simply drain directly, why go through the effort of making a show?"

"And the care that went into making the bodies, at least Amelia's, is highly unusual for even a elder standard vampire," Arthur added.

"It's just hard for me to imagine the most powerful form of vampires wasting their times with such unimportant people," Alice said.

"They aren't unimportant," Alfred snapped. Arthur gave him a look, as if to tell him to calm down.

"Well, Detective, what do you propose," Alice asked, leaning on her knees.

"...What if they're working their way up?" Alfred proposed.

Arthur raised his brow. "How so?"

"The first murder was of a bum. A drunken homeless man, that's why the force hardly addressed the crime at first. It was a bum to a prostitute. Nothing to particularly pursue, no families really pressing for answers. It kept like this for the first seven. If it weren't for weird similarities, we wouldn't have even dealt with the murders for as long as we did. The eighth, ninth, tenth, eleventh, and...Amelia seemed to pump up the attacks however. We had a old grandfather, a father of five, a mother of three, Edelstein and then Amelia. People who could and would be missed by their families."

"So the first few murders were to test how much they could get away with," Arthur said.

"The recent ones are to actually begin a game," Alice concluded, almost impressed by Alfred's theory.

Francine shook her head. "How horrible," she muttered.

Arthur glanced at her. "I know, but I have to ask if you've happened to hear of anything regarding Ancients."

Alice stood and placed her hands on Francine's shoulders, rubbing her thumbs gently over the base of her neck to soothe her.

The woman shook her head. "Unfortunately, I haven't," she said, crossing her arms. "Alice?"

The green eyed woman paused. "...Neither me or Francine have dealt with Ancients, however, that bastard Francis…"

Francine perked up at this name. "Francis Bonnefoy, he does claim he was turned by one, he most likely could assist you better than either of us."

Arthur felt his stomach drop at the name. "You can't think of anyone else?"

Francine gave a small smile. "I know you don't particularly like dealing with Bonnefoy, but he's your best chance," she said.

"He's so…"

"French?" Alice offered.

"Precisely," Arthur agreed, to which Francine simply rolled her eyes.

"I find him delightful. A little flirty, but charming and polite."

"Of course, you do," Arthur said. "You go to Bonnefoy to have a little dangerous fun with Alice. I go because I either have to kill someone he's associated with or Francis, himself."

"Bang up job you've done of killing him," Alice muttered.

"He's a bloody wanker, fucking bastard twists his way out of anything," Arthur argued, crossing his arms.

"Well, I think he's fine, and for a vampire he seems like he actually means well," Francine responded.

Arthur shrugged. "Thank you for everything, Francine," he said.

"Of course, _mon chérie_ ," she said, smiling warmly at him. "If you need any more help let me know and I'll do what I can. Good luck to you both."

Alice glanced towards the two filled glasses that the men never took and rolled her eyes. "Thank you for wasting perfectly good alcohol," Alice said, picking up both and handing one to Francine.

"Good night, ladies," Arthur said, plucking the flower from his lapel and placing it on the table.

" _Bonne nuit!_ "

With that Arthur led Alfred from the room and into the hall.

Arthur paused, thinking.

"What now?" Alfred asked.

Arthur sighed. "Now we try and find Bonnefoy."

* * *

 **Characters:**

Francine Dubois - Fem! France

Alice Barrett - Fem! England

 **Translations** :

Bonjour, mon amour - Hello, my love

Monsieur - Mister

Mon Lapin - My Rabbit

Mon/Ma Chéri - My Darling

Minette - Kitty

Bonne Nuit - Good Night


	6. Chapter 6

6.

However, once they exited Francine's club, Alfred found himself and Arthur lingering at the entrance. He glanced up at Arthur to find the older man deep in thought, his eyes flickering from one direction to the other.

"Are you alright?" Alfred finally asked, crossing his arms.

Arthur remained silent his eyes finally settling on the little sidewalk that led deeper into the slums.

"Kirkland?"

"Hm?" Arthur asked, glancing at Alfred.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, of course, I'm alright," he muttered. He furrowed his brow for a moment before saying, "Where are you staying right now?"

"Huh?"

"You clearly don't want to be at home, who are you staying with? Your partner?"

"Yeah..." Alfred said slowly.

"Let's get you there then," he said, turning the opposite direction he had been looking and beginning to walk.

"Wait," Alfred said, grabbing Arthur's shoulder. "I thought we were going to find Bonnefoy?"

"Surely you didn't think I meant we are immediately going to run out into the night trying to find him," Arthur said with a smirk. "You can't find him like that."

"Then how are we supposed to find him?" Alfred asked.

"I have to make an inquiry."

Alfred looked unimpressed. "To who?"

"There's a couple of locations the frog bounces between, I'm bound to get a result from one of them," Arthur said, beginning to walk again.

Alfred fell into place beside him. "Why don't you just ask Francine and Alice? They seemed to know where to find him," he pointed out.

Arthur shook his head. "No, they know _how_ , not where," he corrected.

"Is there a difference?"

"With Bonnefoy, yes," Arthur said. "Now where does your friend live?"

"Off Fourth and Main," he said, quickly jumping to his next question, "How come you have to jump through so many hoops to find him?"

Arthur took a moment before answering the question. "An important thing to know about Francis Bonnefoy is that he is only good at one thing," Arthur said, a look of annoyance flickering by. "And that's hiding."

Arthur rubbed his temples as he threw another possible lead into the wastebasket beside his desk.

It had been almost four days now and each of these days had been filled with travelling between brothels, drug dens, bars and clubs that Francis was known to either visit or own, and each visit led to disappointment.

Alfred tapped his fingers against the armrest, watching the paper fall into the bin and finally he stood up. "So, that's it?" He asked. "We're out of leads?"

Arthur groaned and let his fingers drop to his notebook where only one place remained. As he looked at the name he felt a sense of nostalgia fill him.

"Well?" Alfred asked, walking over to Arthur's desk and peering over his shoulder.

"There's one place left," he said. He handed his notebook over and sighed.

"'The Bleedin' Rose'?" Alfred read. "That's the most pretentious name I've ever heard."

Arthur laughed. "Well, Francis is perhaps the most pretentious man you'll meet," Arthur said. "But, I suspect that's where we'll find him."

Alfred raised his eyebrow at this. "And why do you think that? Every other place has fallen through. What's special about this place?"

The elder man paused at Alfred's question. "I have a rich history there," he said slowly. "And by this point, I think the bastard _knows_ I'm looking for him, so he, of course, would want to meet there."

Alfred raised his eyebrows, a look of curiosity on his face, but before he could ask about anything pertaining to Arthur's 'rich history', the older man stood up.

"Grab your coat," he instructed, plucking his notepad from Alfred's hands and placing it into his pocket.

Alfred grabbed his jacket. "What is the 'Bleedin' Rose' exactly, anyway?"

Arthur shrugged on his own coat and placed his hat on his head. "It's a vampire liquor den," he said. He opened one of the drawers in his desk and pulled out a fine wooden case.

"A...what?"

"A vampire liquor den," Arthur repeated, opening the box and a small, yet lovely knife in a scabbard. His tugged the weapon from its sheath and, once content with its sharpness, he handed to his assistant.

"I thought vampires...they can get drunk?" He asked, holding the weapon carefully. His hands shook slightly at the idea of being surrounded by possibly drunk vampires.

"Eh, more tipsy than drunk," Arthur said, placing the box back in the drawer. He then moved to the closet and pulled out another, larger wooden box. "It's more because they like the idea of drinking and the taste of alcohol. It does very little to them, but they enjoy it. Plus they like to give it to the humans that come in."

Alfred's eyes grew at the statement. "Why are humans goin' there?" He asked alarmed.

Arthur set the box down on his desk and popped it open. "Vampires and humans occasionally have...arrangements. The humans there are all there of their own free will and aren't in any danger."

"Then why are you armin' us?" Alfred asked.

"Because I have enemies and you can't be too careful," he said, pulling out what looked like a wooden stake and another dagger. He placed the stake on the inside of his jacket and rolled up his pant leg to place the dagger on his calf. He glanced up at Alfred who was watching him carefully, his knife still in his hands. "This might be rather jarring for you, you don't have to come," Arthur said.

"No, I want to," Alfred answered quickly, placing the knife on his hip.

Arthur gave him a small smile and placed his hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Are you sure?" He asked. "I suspect you've never had a run in with any sort of vampire before."

Alfred shook his head.

"Just be quiet and follow my instructions, alright? None of the vampires at the bar are feral, Bonnefoy wouldn't allow that."

"Feral?" Alfred asked.

Arthur nodded, opening the front door. "Vampires that aren't able to control their bloodlust," Arthur explained, beginning to lead the way to the bar.

"Oh," Alfred muttered. He could feel his stomach begin to twist at the idea of being in a bar full of vampires. He began picking at his fingernails, a nervous tick that he had developed as a child.

Arthur watched him carefully, before finally saying, "If you truly are scared by the idea of this place, you don't have to come. I can handle Bonnefoy on my own."

"I can do this," Alfred said firmly. "It's just...unnervin' is all. I mean it's a place that's crawlin' with _them_."

Arthur nodded. "I felt the same way when I went here the first time," he said, placing his hands into his pockets.

"How long ago was that?" Alfred asked, following as Arthur turned down a narrow street.

Arthur took a moment, closing his eyes to try and recall the memory. "I would have to say I was a bit younger than you...I believe I was 18 at the time," he said, confirming it with a nod.

"You've been doing this for that long?" Alfred asked, impressed.

"More or less, at that time I was more like Francine and Alice, thrill seekers. However, I realized that no matter how much fun they were, a lot of them are evil creatures. I've seen a lot of death these past 20 years and as much as I miss the fun, I know what they're capable of."

Alfred turned his head slightly at this, taking in the man beside him. Arthur was an irritable and tired older man, but as the two strolled towards Bonnefoy's place, he realized there was far more to him than that. He opened his mouth to say something, but Arthur held up his hand. His eyes focused on the door at the end of the alley they had entered.

The door was a plain, smooth wood with a crimson red rose painted on the door. As they approached, Alfred noted that paint was dripping down from the rose creating a literal 'bleeding rose' effect.

Arthur lifted his hand to the door and with a quick look at Alfred he knocked on the door.

* * *

Notes:

Hey guys! It's really awesome to see people reading and enjoying this. I just wanted to give you guys some warning that there may be a small hiatus for about 2-3 weeks. It's not definite, but I'm currently doing a show at my school and we're about to perform. I will try to update sooner, but don't surprised if its a couple of weeks. :-)


	7. Chapter 7

7.

Almost as soon as Arthur had finished knocking the door creaked open, revealing a small, closet sized room. Arthur gave Alfred an encouraging look and led them in, the door slamming loudly behind. Alfred sucked in air, startled by the tightness and seemingly inescapable room.

His eyes quickly fell on the man standing in front of the second door, the door that Alfred assumed led to the actual club. Alfred's hand reached for the knife he had stored at his belt, but Arthur gave him a look and instead looked at the large, burly bouncer. The man seemed disciplined and could easily be mistaken for a police officer or soldier. He had blond hair, that was tightly slicked back. His blue eyes watched the two newcomers carefully.

"Ludwig," Arthur said, giving the man a polite nod. "It's been a while."

The man grunted in response. "What brings you back," he asked, with a thick German accent.

"I need access to the club. I'm looking for Bonnefoy," he answered.

Ludwig narrowed his eyes. "I can't let you in if you're intentions are to kill him," he answered, reaching towards the door they had come through.

"No, they aren't," Arthur said, placing his hands up. "I believe he's actually expecting me."

Ludwig nodded. "Ja, he is, but I don't need to kill you for hurting him."

"Fair point, but I swear that I didn't come here to kill him."

The German eyed Arthur carefully, deciding to trust the man's word. He leaned on his heels and his eyes fell on Alfred. "What is this one's story?"

"Assistant," Arthur answered.

Ludwig sighed and placed his hand on the door leading to the bar. He paused and said, "Whatever it is that brings you back here, I hope you find your answers." The corner of Ludwig's mouth twitched, suggesting the man was smiling and he pressed against the door.

Arthur thanked the man and lead Alfred gently from the claustrophobic room and into the open, beautiful bar that could only be the Bleeding Rose. As he stood on the balcony overlooking the club, he couldn't help but feel a wave of nostalgia pass over him. Everything felt and looked like it had twenty long years ago. Even the people that staffed Bonnefoy's liquor den were still the same. Arthur found himself watching the silver haired man that was the bartender and the man met his eyes. A light filled the red eyes of the bartender and with a loud bellow he called out Arthur's name, waving him wildly towards the bar.

Arthur waved and began making his way down the fine steps and towards the bar, Alfred close on his heels. He noted how the young man stared wide eyed at the place, knowing it hardly matched what he imagined. "Vampire's aren't known for having ugly things," he said, over his shoulder.

"I see," he said, his eyes shifting from the fine golden rail of the stairs, to the thick crimson velvet of the curtains that lead to the private rooms. Arthur allowed himself to give the boy a small smile, recognizing that awe struck look as his own from all those years ago.

As the two men approached the bar, the man who called Arthur over just let out a hearty laugh. "Arthur Kirkland, you son-of-a-bitch," he said, his voice with a German accent as thick as the bouncer's. "Been a looooong time."

Arthur nodded. "It definitely has," he agreed, sliding onto one of the plush stools.

"Shit, man, it definitely looks like it. I mean look at you. You're old," the man continued, laughing at Arthur's frown.

"Not that old," he muttered. "I'm not even forty yet."

"But you're just about to be, aren't ya," the man continued, pulling out a bottle of whiskey.

Alfred smiled as the man teased Arthur about his age. Despite the odd appearance, there was something warm about the red eyed man. The bartender poured three glasses and handed one to him, Arthur and kept one for himself.

"Aren't you working, Gilbert?" Arthur asked, watching as the man drank the whiskey without batting an eye.

"You know this shit, doesn't do actual shit. It's a shame, too. I'd love to get hammered one of these days," the man, Gilbert, said.

"You're ridiculous," Arthur said, taking a swig from his own glass.

"But you missed me," Gilbert argued, pouring another glass for himself. "But say, what brings you here with a date? Tryin' to make good ol' Frenchy jealous?"

Arthur nearly gagged at this and Alfred sputtered. "I-I'm not...we're not-"

"Hey, no worries," Gilbert said, as Arthur gave a sharp cough, trying to recover from the comment. "I mean I wouldn't figure you to date half your age, but to one their own. Definitely'll get Francis' attention-"

"Alfred isn't my date, and I don't care if I make the bastard jealous or not," Arthur hissed.

"But I think the boss man mentioned you'd be looking for him," Gilbert pointed out. "I figured it's cause you got hitched or something. Show off your bride or whatever to your good pals back at the Bleeding Rose."

Arthur glared, and Gilbert lifted his hands in surrender. "But I mean, whoever the kid is, it's always refreshing to see a new face," he offered, leaning to look at Alfred more closely.

"How'd you get all mixed up with Mr. Sensitive over here?" Gilbert asked, giving Alfred a light smile.

"It's a long story," Alfred said, his eyes on his untouched drink.

Gilbert turned his head and laughed, sliding the drink away from Alfred to inspect it. "You not thirsty?" the man asked, gulping the drink down himself.

"I shouldn't really drink right now," Alfred said. "And neither should he."

Arthur raised his brow and set the drink down. "Fair enough," he said, and pushed the drink away.

"You two on some big vampire hunting business? I mean Arthur Kirkland actually turning down whiskey? I picked that shit out for you."

"We just have a job to do," he muttered.

"And you're a lightweight if I've ever seen one, so you can't drink one whole glass without getting drunk," Gilbert added, chuckling when Arthur gave him another sharp glare.

"Goodnight, Gilbert," Arthur said, motioning for Alfred to follow.

"The boss man's office is in the same place," Gilbert called out after him.

Arthur nodded and began making his way towards the office, his memory clear, but his footsteps slow. Alfred matched pace, but noted the hesitation in Arthur's steps, as though he were uneasy.

"Are you alright?" he asked, as Arthur walked towards the back corner of the club, where a man guarded a small doorway, blocked with a velvet curtain.

Arthur nodded, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. "Last time I went in here, I made a mistake, just trying not to do it again," he said slowly, taking a large breath as the stopped before the tanned skin man.

"Hola," the man said, lazy green eyes studying the pair. A smile crossed his lips, as a look of recognition finally appeared on his face.

The man stood his full height and placed his hands in his pockets. "Señor Bonnefoy is waiting for you, mi amigo," the man said, an odd look in his eyes. Alfred glanced at Arthur who had an unimpressed frown on his lips.

"Would you care to move so I can stop his waiting, Carriedo?" Arthur asked, crossing his arms across his chest. The Spaniard simply smiled, and gave a low mocking bow as Arthur shoved past, Alfred chasing behind.

"Bastard," Arthur muttered, his eyes adjusting to the sudden change in lighting. Alfred studied the hall leading to a set of stairs, and couldn't help but notice the sudden, rather eerie change in atmosphere.

The area was dark for one thing, a couple of torches lighting the way up the steps. Another thing Alfred noticed, was how the air in the hall made his hair stand up on edge. His eyes fell on Arthur who paused staring up the set of stairs. Arthur seemed to have remained calm this whole endeavour, but as he stood there Alfred could hear quick, uncharacteristic breaths.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Alfred asked, placing a gentle hand on Arthur's shoulder. He was nervous and honestly a little scared, but Arthur seemed anxious, his fingers twitching by his sides. The elder man blinked and finally looked at Alfred.

"Just...getting my bearings," Arthur said, and with final quick breath, Arthur began his ascent to Francis's office.

When the two reached the top an old, ornate door stood to greet them. Arthur's hand hovered over the door and Alfred watched as he gave his head a shake and knocked on the door three times.

The door creaked open and everything about this felt wrong to Alfred. His stomach dropped, but Arthur stomped in. Alfred was about to follow suit when the door suddenly slammed, leaving Arthur to fend against Francis himself.


	8. Chapter 8

8.

The harsh slam of the door sent Arthur's blood running cold and he felt himself clench his teeth at the sound of his name being called from outside the room. He was alone. He was alone and trapped in this dark office space with Francis.

As the sound of footsteps filled the dark office, Arthur reached into his jacket, his fingers gripping the wooden stake he had hidden. The footsteps were slow and set, no rush in the person's movements, but each click sent a chill down Arthur's spine. Arthur's eyes lifted and spotted a figure in the shadows to his left. His knees bent, prepared to defend himself if the creature were to attack, but all he heard was the tapping of the footsteps circling him, studying him.

Arthur frowned after a moment, his anxiousness getting the better of him. "Are you going to do something?" he said stiffly.

"I might," the voice teased, the shadowed figure coming to a stop before Arthur.

Arthur narrowed his eyes, his free hand clenching into a fist at his side. The figure tutted. "Still quick to anger," the creature noted, beginning to walk from the shadows. "A dangerous trait, _mon ch_ _é_ _ri_."

The vampire hunter's fingers tightened around the stake as the natural moonlight from the office's window caught the Frenchman. It was always unnerving to see vampires that he had known from his youth. He had met the Frenchman when he was eighteen, a wide eyed lad fresh off the boat from England, and still after twenty years the man still looked the exact same.

Francis grinned, stopping his strut about a meter before the smaller man. Arthur lifted his head and the two men watched each other with careful eyes. For a moment it was a silent game, Francis' eyes sparkling dangerously like a cat with a mouse.

Finally Francis took a daring step closer, Arthur simply stepping back. Francis smirked. "Come now," he said, his brow raised. "Don't tell me you're scared."

Arthur scoffed at this. "Please," Arthur laughed. "Scared. Of you?"

Francis chuckled at this comment and took another step, studying Arthur's movements. Arthur stayed put, but his grip on the stake remained tight and ready. However, the Frenchman's hand darted out, tightly grabbing Arthur's wrist and pulling it - and the stake - from his jacket. The man raised a curious brow and twisted the man's wrist, yanking the weapon from his hand. The green eyed man pulled away and rubbed his wrist, glaring as Francis tossed the weapon carelessly to the side.

"I thought you wanted something," Francis said, rolling his shoulders back and placing his hands in his pockets. "Yet you come with a weapon? Are you making a request or a threat?"

"I just have a couple of questions," Arthur said, slowly.

"Is it something along the lines of how well that stake would fit into my chest?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Don't be dramatic."

"I have every right to be dramatic, considering the last time you were here you attempted to murder me," Francis countered. "A fact I - lucky for you - looked over this time."

"My intention tonight isn't murder," Arthur said.

"Could have fooled me," Francis muttered, turning to the desk at the back of the room.

"Oh, stop being bitter for five minutes. I brought the weapon for my own safety, considering the last time I was here you weren't particularly...stable."

Francis glanced back at Arthur. "Then, what were your actual intentions?"

"As I said, I simply have a couple of questions."

Francis took a seat in the chair behind the desk. "Relating to?" he asked, resting his arms on the fine mahogany.

"Two things: a series of murders and...Ancients."

A mild look of surprise crossed the Frenchman's face. "Why are you involving yourself in either subject?"

"My new assistant's sister is the victim of the most recent attack and after addressing the scene of the crime, I have reason to believe it may be the work of an Ancient."

"And this assistant is the young man you were with?" Francis asked.

"Yes. May he come in? We both have a number of question-"

"Not yet. What do I get if I help you?"

Arthur paused, growing confused. "Excuse me?"

"I'm not going to simply hand out information," Francis explained. "I expect to profit in some way if I am going to supply the answers you need."

Arthur took a breath, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. A vampire's price is never cheap. Part of Arthur actually believed that considering his -their- past, Francis would have just provided the answers and called it a day. Slowly he asked, "What do you want?"

Francis leaned back in the chair placing his hands together on his stomach. God, Arthur just wanted to smack him and that stupid look off his face.

"Well?" he snapped. "What do you want? Money? Sex?"

Francis chuckled. "Both I'm sure you're _very_ willing to provide me with," the Frenchman said. "But I'm afraid what I desire is worth a little more to me and my...lifestyle."

Arthur froze, his breath catching. His nails dug into his palms, the sharp pain the only thing to get him off what Francis was implying.

"Come now, _mon coeur,_ you owe me and at least now you're getting something from it," Francis said, lifting his head up slightly.

Arthur shook his head. "No," he hissed, "There's not a chance in hell."

Francis tilted his head. That stupid, mocking grin on his face widening. "Why not?"

"That's too much to ask from _me_ as a fucking price for an interrogation. You _know_ that."

Francis stood and Arthur immediately reached for the knife at his calf. Quickly he pulled it before him and, despite his nerves, held it steady.

The vampire folded his hands before him, watching Arthur carefully. "What if I offer you more than?"

"No!" Arthur shouted, the calm he managed to maintain sinking away.

Francis moved before the desk and Arthur felt himself move forward as well, prepared to dig the sharp blade of the dagger deep into the others chest. Francis shrugged. "Fine, then you get no information from me."

"Listen here you fucking prick from Hell-"

Francis shook his head. " _Non_ , you listen here," he said, crossing his arms. "Here's my offer: I provide and assist you and your partner in this case, in every possible way. _Every_ resource I have at my disposal, _every_ vampire who has come into any of my establishments, _anything_ you might need I will provide. What I want is very small in comparison."

"It _doesn't_ matter. You can't have my blood, I'm not going to be your damn bloodbag, Francis!"

"And why not? I won't hurt you. You've no doubt done it before, why am I any different? Because of our past? You think I'll bleed you dry?"

Arthur shut his eyes tight, shaking his head sharply.

" _That's_ the offer on the table. I am more than willing to help in your case providing you supply me with blood until the case is over. If you think you can do better, then leave. _Try_ and find someone with as much information as me. _Just try._ "

The smaller man let out a shaky breath, his heart thudding in his chest. "Arthur, _mon ch_ é _ri,_ it's a relatively small price to pay for what I am willing to give you."

"...Not for me," Arthur muttered, his hand falling to his side. The dagger slipped between his fingers and he stared at the floor a moment before taking a deep breath. His lifted his head shakily. "I...agree to the offer."

Francis offered Arthur a sincere smile, but he just proceeded to remove his coat, refusing to make eye contact with the vampire. Francis pulled a chair forward and Arthur set the jacket on it. He was slow as he began taking off his suit jacket, yet Francis simply watched. Arthur couldn't place the look that Francis was giving him. Regret maybe? Disappointment? _It doesn't matter_ , he thought. He tossed the suit jacket onto the chair as well. His fingers dipped under his white button up shirt sleeve and he unbuttoned the cuff. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a breath before rolling it up all the way up to the middle of his left bicep.

Francis motioned for Arthur to sit and the man did as was asked. He took a shaky breath and he felt Francis' soft fingers at his neck tugging the tie loose. Francis pulled it off and placed it in his right hand. "If it hurts," he explained. "I doubt you want your little assistant to hear you."

Arthur granted Francis with an unimpressed glance. "Like your bite could make me yell that loud," he muttered, dropping the fabric onto the floor.

Francis smirked at the comment and knelt beside the armrest where Arthur's arm waited. He placed one hand on Arthur's wrist and the other on his upper arm to prevent him from pulling away. He glanced up to see Arthur looking forward, his hands balled up in fists. He looked down for a moment and after he gathered the courage, Francis placed his sharp teeth to the vampire hunter's arm.

* * *

Translations:

 _mon coeur_ \- my heart

 _mon cheri -_ my darling

 _mon lapin_ \- my rabbit

 _non_ \- no


	9. Chapter 9

9.

Alfred was panicking. His best chance at finding his sister's killer was stuck in a room with a vampire he clearly wasn't pleased to be seeing. He slammed his fist on the door, calling to Arthur, but that was nearly fifteen minutes ago and the room still remained eerily quiet.

He paced down the steps and then back up, trying to kill time before Arthur got him, or he fled. When had gotten through his set for the sixth time, he moved before the door and gave it a loud set of knocks and called the man's name. He listened for a moment and was startled when the door actually opened.

The heavy door creaked and Alfred was faced with an unfamiliar man. He had long golden blond hair, which, despite being tied back, had loose tendrils shaping his face. The man had pale flawless white skin that seemed to glow in the faint light of the hall. A pair of sharp, stunning blue eyes met Alfred and despite the smile resting on the man's lips, the set of eyes seemed dangerous and on edge.

"Where's Arthur?" Alfred asked, his hand at his waist, prepared to pull out his weapon.

"In here, of course," the man laughed. "You saw him go in, _non?_ "

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "Is he alright?"

The man rolled his eyes and opened the door wider. Alfred's brow furrowed and the man shrugged. "Come in if you don't believe me," the man finally said, glancing into the office. "All I had to do was talk to _Monsieur_ Kirkland."

"Likely," Alfred muttered, and slid past the man into the dimly lit office.

The room was large, but relatively empty. There was a fine desk at the back of the room, in front of the only window in the room, which was the only source of light at the moment. When Alfred looked up he spotted a fine chandelier hanging from the high ceiling. As he entered the room he spotted large velvet chairs in front of the desk which matched the heavy curtains.

Alfred approached the chair quickly and felt a wave of relief when he realized Arthur was sitting there. He smiled, but only for a moment when he noticed how pale and how tired Arthur seemed. The elder man was nursing his left arm it appeared, pressing his hand to the crook of his arm. Alfred couldn't see what was causing the pain, but it wasn't even until he cleared his throat did Arthur even register Alfred was there. Arthur forced a smile at the young man, shifting a bit so he sat taller and looked less exhausted. Alfred frowned at the dullness in Arthur's eyes and how unfocused they seemed.

"Are you alright?" he murmured, glancing back towards the Frenchman who had taken to watching the two from the door. The man smiled and waved his fingers at Alfred.

Arthur nodded. "You?" he asked quietly.

"Better than you it looks like," he said.

Arthur shrugged. "Being with that frog for longer than five minutes takes _a lot_ out of me is all," he said, closing his eyes for a moment.

The younger man opened his mouth to ask what exactly had went down, when the Frenchman slid past him and into the chair behind the desk. "Take a seat, _mon ami_ ," he instructed, intertwining his fingers and placing them under his chin. " _Monsieur_ Kirkland said you both would be interrogating me, might as well make yourself comfortable."

Alfred glared, but after a nod from Arthur he took a seat in the chair beside him. This didn't help make him comfortable, however. Arthur seemed so out of it, his eyes shut and he was swaying in his seat like he might pass out. When Francis spoke he hardly had the energy to look at the man. It pissed him off. What the hell had this man done to make him so...like this?

The Frenchman however just grinned at Alfred and he noted with discomfort a pair of long, menacing fangs in the man's mouth.

"Well? Come along, ask me questions and what not," Francis said. "I'm completely at your disposal."

Arthur sighed and opened his eyes, finally looking at the vampire before him. "Like I said, my assistant and I desire information on a series of murders and Ancients."

"Murders?" Francis asked, seeming to be alarmed. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Don't be stupid," he muttered. "Murders. Twelve to be precise and spanning over three months. Recently they have led to the death of a young innocent woman. I have reason to think that perhaps an Ancient might be behind it. So if you would cooperate that would be _peachy_."

Francis placed a finger on his chin as though he were in thought and Alfred could practically feel the tired anger beginning to radiate from Arthur. "Don't waste my time, _Bonnefoy_ ," Arthur hissed, his fingers digging sharply into his left arm.

"Tell me about the young woman? Is she truly as innocent as you think?" Francis proposed. Alfred grew stiff at the suggestion.

"Of course she is," he said.

"I mean, I've known many Ancients in my time, and while they've been known to get...bored from time to time, its been a number of years since they've killed for sport. There are individuals and rules set in place to prevent these sorts of killings. The girl could be more than just an innocent face, more likely she has dealt with some more serious encounters with a vampire. Perhaps she and a vampire had come to an agreement to have her act as a blood donor of sorts," Bonnefoy explained, eying Arthur with a dark grin. "It's not necessarily unheard of."

"Amelia wouldn't get involved with _your_ sort," Alfred growled. "She's a school teacher for God's sake."

"And just last week I was approached by a nun," Francis laughed. "Your career hardly has a say on who you are."

Alfred gripped the armrest, his nails digging tightly into the fine velvet. Not even two minutes into the conversation and Alfred already wanted to beat the man's face in. However Alfred felt a hand on his arm and saw Arthur shake his head. "I've already considered the possibility," he said. "Even if it were a case of a bloodlust and she was in fact a blood donor, I doubt her killers would have tied her up or drank from cups oppose from directly from her," he explained.

Francis' head turned slightly at this. "So it was against her will?"

"Of course it was! Who willingly has their blood drained?" Alfred snapped.

"Plenty of people do," Francis said. "This bar is an excellent example of that. It's quite thrilling from what human's tell me." The vampire leaned forward his fangs glinting against the moonlight and Alfred took a hard breath in through his nose. "Would you care to give it a try?"

"Quit," Arthur snapped, glaring daggers at the man.

Francis shrugged, but his eyes still remained on Alfred. The younger man shifted and looked back towards Arthur, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling growing in his gut.

"Yes it was against her will. Bruising suggests she was bound and at the crime scene I found a set of goblets that I'm assuming her killers used. Could you shed light on the usage of these items?"

Francis hummed for a moment. "Goblets?...I have a few ideas on why they might have been used. Were they found at the other crime scenes?"

Alfred shook his head. "No, just the bodies, which had similar wounds and marks to Amy's."

"I take it you've been working the case for a while then?"

Alfred gave a hesitant nod.

"Has anything any of the witnesses said led to any potential suspects?"

"No, most of the bodies had been found after a week or so. Amelia's...body was the quickest one that was found."

"Tell me more about the other victims," Francis said.

Alfred paused, racking his brain for information. "Well, they've all been relatively the same. The only change has been the victims and the goblets Arthur had found."

"What exactly has happened to the bodies then?"

"They've been drained. Miss Jones' body had been drained from a point at her neck and wrists. Bruises, which suggests she was bound, were at her wrists and ankles, but had occurred at a time before Alfred had found her. I suspect she was moved to the apartment building post mortem given that the room was completely clean, save for the blood that was brought with her."

"I thought you said she was drained," Francis pointed out.

"Ah, yes. She was as pale as snow, save for the bruising at her neck and wrists, which I imagine was all that remained of her blood."

"What do you suppose the blood she had on her was?"

Arthur heard shifting and noticed Alfred who had turned his attention to the high ceiling. He frowned, realizing the subject of the conversation, at least regarding the crime scene did not sit well. He reached out and gave the younger man's forearm a light squeeze, before answering. "I imagine it was her own. If her killers had feasted with goblets opposed to directly from her, they probably left a particular mess regarding the blood. But it puzzles me how...'nice' they were about leaving her body."

Francis cocked his head at this, a slight confusion lighting up in his eyes as Arthur spoke. "What do you mean?"

"She looked ready to be buried," Alfred muttered, drawing his eyes forward to look at Francis. "All she was missin' was a casket."

The Frenchman drummed his fingers on the desk as he dwelled on the information provided to him. Arthur watched as Francis closed his eyes, as if to recall something. "What is it?" he asked slowly.

"It sounds almost ritualistic," Bonnefoy said, his eyes opening. He leaned over the side of his desk and began sifting through the cabinets in search of something.

"What does that mean?" Alfred whispered to Arthur.

The older man however remained silent as Francis pulled out a set of books from the desk. A set of three dusty, leather bound novels sat before the three men and Francis opened each until he found exactly what he was looking for.

"I'm sure you remember this Arthur, but I'll provide your little assistant with some exposition," Francis said, flipping through the pages of the journal. "A number of years ago a group of vampires began creating a number of problems for the humans of this area. They were set on creating a New World Order, one in which humans would serve vampires. Thus began the worship of the 'New Order', not a particularly clever name, but it served its purpose."

"A cult," Alfred realized.

"Indeed, a new relatively hellish religion in which the social norms of the world would be flipped and humans would be nothing more than servants and slaves to the new vampire hierarchy. As you can imagine this was alarming to not only the humans who worked to control the vampire mischief around here, but it created paranoia for those vampires like myself who had created a positive relationship with a number of humans and didn't see a point in a vampirical take over."

"Nearly fifty people were killed in the name of the 'New Order'," Arthur muttered, a darkness shrouding his eyes as the dark memory appeared to him. "Over 90 were injured or had been designated blood donors to these...worshippers."

Alfred shook his head, alarm appearing on his face. "So you think...what exactly?"

"I believe that you have another 'New Order' on your hands, _mon ami_."

Arthur brought his hands to his face, wiping the exhaustion and worry from his eyes. _Another New Order_ , he thought grimly to himself. After releasing a slow breath he placed his hands before him. "If what you are proposing is correct then you've heard something regarding this new 'New Order'," Arthur stated.

Bonnefoy leaned back his hand still residing on the leather book. "Nothing more than a whisper," the vampire stated. "I can provide you with a few names of those who did not face punishment for their crimes during the rise of the 'New Order' but that's the only lead I may be able to provide you. Unlike their predecessors, these new worshippers - if I'm even correct - are infinitely more careful and select about those they have join their religion."

Arthur sniffed and pressed his fingers to his lips, deep in thought as he regarded his first interview with Francine which suggested this was perhaps a game and this new revelation that perhaps this was now a cult. There also still laid the question of if those involved were of standard vampire status or were in fact members of a more superior kind.

Alfred however broke the thoughtful silence. "What sort of people would you see being involved with something like...this? If you had to describe them."

Francis sniffed and looked at the book in front of him. "I would say they're the sort to believe the world owes them something even after all these years."

"Could they be Ancients?" Alfred asked.

"I wouldn't be surprised if they were involved in some way," Francis said, confirming it with a nod. "They've faced the rise and fall of humanity for thousands of years, perhaps they'd like to see it fall and were inspired by the younger turned vampires of the New Order? Or perhaps they've been involved with both parties. It's hard to say with that sort."

Arthur nodded and rose to his feet. His color had returned to him a bit Alfred noticed. He still looked worn, but with new information to analyze he had an odd air of determination about him. His left arm, which he no longer gripped, lay limply at his side. Alfred followed the motion. " _Merci_ _beaucoup_ ," Arthur said, holding out his right hand. "I appreciate your help."

Francis grinned and rose as well, tightly taking Arthur's hand. "Don't worry, I'll send Antonio or Gilbert by at some point tomorrow with a list of names of former New Order members."

Arthur shook Francis hand, but quickly pulled it from Francis' grip. "Can I expect you to arrive at some point this week?" he asked, his face indifferent.

Francis' smile grew. "Most likely, _oui_. I'd like to keep up with what you discover," he said.

Arthur shrugged and turned. Alfred glanced over his shoulder and was about to follow when Francis grabbed his wrist. "Take these," he said, handing the books over to Alfred. "They'll be good learning material for you."

Alfred's brows furrowed his brow at this, but took the books regardless. "Uh, thank you," he said.

Francis nodded and Alfred tucked them under his arm. He gave the vampire a curious look and ran off to match pace with the hunter's brisk pace. As the two men made their way from the Bleeding Rose, a quiet fell over them as both men began to think on what Francis Bonnefoy had given them.

* * *

Translation:

 _Merci beaucoup -_ Thank you very much

 _Mon ami_ \- my friend


	10. Chapter 10

10.

Arthur Kirkland was no stranger to nightmares. His whole source of income centered around the things from nightmares, so why in God's name could he not get over the idea of the dreams that were no doubt going to be triggered from the events of tonight? He expected the nightmares, he knew there would be little remedy for them _not_ to happen, especially considering the heavy information he was having to process regarding the potential resurgence of the New Order and his 'deal' with Francis.

He twisted himself onto his back and stared dumbly at the high ceiling above him. He just wanted to sleep, wanted to clear his mind of all of the ideas and memories that were waltzing about his head and just...rest. He attempted closing his eyes, but a particularly gruesome image crossed his eyelids and immediately he was sitting up, unable to take the unfocused thoughts which danced behind his eyelids every time he dared to shut them.

He ran his hand over his face and pulled himself from his bed. Well if he couldn't sleep he may as well put his insomnia to use. He stood and made his way to the living room where his desk resided. He fumbled in the darkness for the lantern and turned the key igniting the light. A dull flame lit his workspace and he found himself staring at the emptiness of his wooden desk, debating his next step. He could review Amelia's case, consider why she might be a potential victim in what could be a cult. But instead he felt himself reaching for the compartment in his desk which held a key to the drawer on the bottom left of his desk. A key to a journal very similar to the ones Francis had produced earlier, on what he assumed to be the same subject matter as well. His fingers closed on the brass key and he felt almost mechanical and set in his movements. Key, drawer, open, take out journal. His hands lingered on the tired leather of the journal before tossing it onto the desk before him.

It had been years since he had used this sad diary or had even laid eyes on it. The events recorded were ones he didn't care to address again and he couldn't help but feel a chill go down his spine as he stared at the old book. He closed the drawer and the key was placed promptly back in its hiding place, Arthur's focus on the book. He couldn't bring himself to open it, just stare at it, working up some form of bravery to recount evidence that would no doubt aid him with the new direction the case seemed to be taking.

Cautiously he plucked the book from the desk and held it gingerly in his hands, as if it were a bomb ready to explode at any moment. With a quick sigh he opened the book and began his journey to the past.

* * *

Alfred's shoes clicked sharply on the wood floor of Matthew's apartment as he paced the length of the living room. He wasn't going to sleep, he knew better than to think that he would have that luxury tonight of all nights.

His eyes flickered to the diaries that Francis had allowed him to have and he shook his head, turning to make his march the opposite way. Part of him just wanted to turn the books over to Arthur, wipe himself clean of the ordeal and step away from _this_ aspect of the death. Maybe he could go back to the police station with Matthew and talk to the Commander about working the case the best way he knew how.

However, he knew the only way he could feel like he had avenged Amelia's death was to continue this odd, curious path that Arthur Kirkland was taking him on.

He crossed his arms and kept moving. If he stopped he'd start reading the diaries and something about them...unnerved him. Arthur hadn't made any mention about them, and Alfred had made it clear he had the journals with him, but the older man seemed to either ignore them or chose to not realize they were there.

Halfway through his parade through the living room, the door to Matthew's bedroom opened and the bleary eyed detective stumbled through. Alfred smirked at the sight of his partner, and the other man blinked hard, trying to at least appear in order. Finally the quiet man desperately said, " _Please just sit down_ ," and closed the door.

Alfred sighed, but agreed and began making himself comfortable on the makeshift couch bed. His eyes fell on the books and his fingers twitched. He wasn't going to sleep, the nightmares he had been dealing with since Amelia had been brutal to his sleeping patterns. Sleep evaded him and only twice has he successfully managed to pass out. But he couldn't bring himself to look into the books. He vaguely knew they address whatever this "New Order" thing was, but the way Arthur and Francis looked back on it, as if it almost pained them to think of it.

He curled up on his side, turning his back to the table. It wasn't anything he needed to address, or at least not like this. Perhaps he could talk to Arthur get a more precise summary? But as he turned over, his eyes once again landed on the leather journals. He was a detective and part of him knew that despite how sincere Arthur seemed he wouldn't give him the complete story. He was a man he found himself trusting, but still barely knew or understood.

He rubbed his forehead, Arthur was a stranger and part of him felt that reading this book would reveal things about Arthur he may not want to address. The young man figured Francis had given him the books because it would enlighten him on the New Order...but now as he lay here late at night, it occurred to him that maybe it would address his partner. Shed light on who he was, his past and his connection to the Bleeding Rose, particularly Francis.

He found himself reaching out, his fingers taking the book into his hands and placing it on his lap. It was dark, but the dingy lamp on the street and the startling bright moon gave him enough light to make out the dates on the journals.

It was then he heard a knock on the door, interrupting the reading before he could even begin. He heard Matthew begin to shift, but Alfred made it to the door. He pulled it open and was startled to find Commander Braginski at the door.

"Ah, good evening Commander," Alfred said, puzzled by the late visit. He glanced over his shoulder and spotted Matthew shuffling toward the door. The other man once realizing his boss was at his home, quickly finished waking up and made his way beside Alfred.

"Commander," Matthew said. "What can I do for you, sir?"

The Russian smiled and Alfred felt himself grow cold. The man had always been rather...unnerving to the him. His blank, distant, false smile was always the worst.

"I'm needing to discuss with Jones," he stated, motioning for Alfred to join him in the hall. Alfred paused, but felt Matthew nudge him.

"Right," Alfred muttered and made his way into the hall with the large Russian. Ivan reached out and bid Matthew quick good night, shutting the door in the man's face.

Braginski began walking and Alfred, despite his gut saying not to, found himself following, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"So, Jones, how is it?" the larger man asked, making his way down the steps.

"Uh, what sir?"

"Kirkland, his side of the case?"

Alfred paused. "Uh, fine, I suppose. We at least kind of have a lead, I think."

Ivan raised his brow at this. "Really?"

"Something about potential cult activity."

Braginski smiled and Alfred shoved his hands into his pockets as the two made their way out of the building.

"The New Order?" he asked and Alfred looked at him, startled.

"How do you-"

"I'm familiar with the work. Granted it was before my career, but it was a unique time in our city's history."

Alfred frowned. "I mean fifty people died, I don't think it's quite right to refer to it as 'unique'."

Ivan just chuckled and kept walking.

"I hate to sound rude, sir, but what exactly is going on? It's a bit late to be checking on my progress with Kirkland, don't you think?"

The Russian shrugged. "Mm, perhaps, but it appears you two are attached at the hip during the day."

"So?"

"I do not like Kirkland, and I do not wish to deal with him on the matter of this case."

Alfred's frown deepened. "But it seems to be the only way to get results," he argued. "Matthew says that nothing new has been showing up _your_ way."

"We did the autopsy," Braginski said.

Alfred paused. "And?" he asked.

"Amelia didn't have any tattoos or markings, correct?"

The young detective shook his head. "No...why?"

"We found markings on her back. It's indecipherable, of course, but something important to note. It was a similar tell of the New Order," Ivan explained, "but I'm sure Arthur had already told you that."

Alfred gave his head a small shake. "Not yet, we only got put on this lead tonight. Hasn't had a chance to fill me in."

Braginski nodded staring curiously at the other man.

"Ah, I see. He must have also brushed over a number of things with you."

Alfred glared, his hands curling into fists.

"Not that I'm surprised he's a very isolated man. Never really told people much. Even when their lives depended on it."

"Why are you telling me this," Alfred asked, stopping. He found his hands shaking at his sides.

Ivan paused as well. "Arthur Kirkland is a dangerous man, Jones," he began, turning to look straight on at the younger man. His eyes were dark and Alfred noticed the slight twitch in his lip. When Alfred failed to respond to this, the larger man gripped him tightly by the shoulders. Alfred struggled to pull himself free, prepared to attack him, but Ivan just leaned in close. Those dangerous almost purple eyes staring at him. "He's caused the deaths of many, because he is a _coward_. He has no concern for anyone other than himself." Ivan's fingers dug deeper into Alfred's flesh. "This may seem like you being the hero on some big, strange adventure with this man, but he _will not_ protect you. When it comes to it the only one he'll care about saving will be himself."

Alfred shook his head. " _I trust him_ ," he growled, trying to pull away.

The Russian barred his teeth and gave Alfred a hard shake. "Don't be an _idiot_ , Jones. You know _nothing_ of him," he spat. Alfred shoved Ivan off and his Commander almost looked like he was about to hit him. Instead he took a slow breath and straightened up, the mask he wore and that awful smile coming to his face. "I _suggest_ you leave him to his own demons before you become one yourself."

With that Ivan turned on his heel and walked off down the street towards a waiting carriage.

Alfred let out a shaky breath. He shook his head, trying to get the words from his head. _I trust Arthur_ , he reminded himself, taking a step away from the spot of the confrontation.

Slowly, he started to make his way to the apartment. He was shaking, exhaustion and the fleeting adrenaline causing him to grow weary. He managed to make it up the steps and back into Matthew's apartment where he was waiting.

He quickly assured Matthew he was fine, he was just tired and sent his friend back to bed. He slid onto the couch and his eyes fell on the books that were waiting for him. He took a breath and quickly took them in his hand and walked over to the closet. He shut his eyes and shoved the books on the high shelf. He'd get rid of them later, but for now he needed to sleep. He shut the door and stumbled onto the couch, his eyes closing. "I trust Arthur," he said to himself. "I _have_ to."


End file.
